


BBC Sherlock Oneshots

by eurusholmmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I really need to learn how to use this website, don't forget to leave kudos!, please enjoy writing from three years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurusholmmes/pseuds/eurusholmmes
Summary: Transferring a large bulk of my writing from Tumblr to here. Archived Tumblr is EurusHolmmes, please feel free to check out the rest of my reader inserts there!





	1. Chapter 1

_How do you gain a man like that with your height? You’ll never be good enough for Sherlock Holmes._

It was late in the day after a particularly grueling case, and Sherlock had immediately retreated to his bedroom to slide on his dressing gown and collapse on the sofa. You’d been sitting there most of the day waiting for him to come home, desperate to distract yourself in the novel on the side table. Needless to say, it had failed. You weren’t normally a person who dwelt on her thoughts, but the constant jokes and ridicule over your height had been getting much worse as of late.

It had come from Lestrade and Mycroft, of all people, but you’d done a fair job of now showing that it bothered you. Until Sherlock rested his head in your lap. “You’re being abnormally quiet. Tell me what’s bothering you.” You exhaled deeply and ran your fingers through his raven black curls, your fingernails lightly scraping his scalp. “Y/n, you’re crying.” Sure enough, you slowly lifted one hand to your cheek and cursed as it came away damp.

  “You’re so observant.” You said quietly, laughing under your breath as Sherlock sat up and turned towards you, pulling you into his arms. Your breathing hitched as you rested your head against his chest, his pulsing heartbeat a calming sound to your ears. “This is going to sound so stupid, Sherlock.”

  “Nothing coming from you is stupid. Everything I said on the phone at Sherrinford was true.” He whispered softly. “I do love you, sweetheart. But I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

  “Your brother and Detective Inspector Lestrade have been making fun of my height for months. Normally I don’t care, but it gets old after a while. I just..” His breathing hitched as you tucked your head underneath of his jaw and sighed deeply. “Wonder how you can love someone like me.”

  “Your height has never bothered me, y/n. Why would it now? Besides, like I’ve told you countless times, my brother doesn’t understand love and Greg is a world class moron.” You snickered quietly and pressed your hand against his cheek, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Your height is endearing because it means I can do things like this-” You gasped as Sherlock jumped to his feet, his arms now connected under your legs in a bridal style. “More easily.”

  "You’re such a romantic dork, Sherlock Holmes.” He entered the bedroom that the two of you shared and tossed you on the bed, grinning as you bounced on the mattress and landed flat on your back. You propped yourself up on your elbows and met his penetrating gaze as he crawled onto the bed and straddled you on all fours. “Thank you.”

  “Always my love.” He replied, chuckling as he peppered your face with sweet kisses before he went limp at your side. “Now, what else can I do to-” Sherlock froze as you took his arm and wrapped it around your waist, entwining your legs together as you curled into his body.

  “Is this what you-”

  “This is cuddling, and I’m the little spoon. Now shut up and go to sleep.” John Watson had never thought in a million years that he would walk into the flat to find Sherlock Holmes cuddling with the only woman insane enough to love him.

He’s got lots of pictures to prove it.


	2. The Other Morstan - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You’re Marys older sister who is intrigued when she tells you about her meeting with Sherlock Holmes. Curious about the Detective, you end up at Baker Street with the plan to completely blow him out of the water. How do you blow Sherlock Holmes out of the water? By using his own game against him.

The Watson wedding was a little over a week away, and Mary had been insisting for days now that you follow her to Baker Street to meet Johns best man, the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes. She’d made you her Maid of Honor and wanted the two of you to get along when the day came for the wedding. 

  “Be warned, he tends to read people off the bat.” Mary chided, wiggling her eyebrows as you ascended the stairs to the flat. Your heart pounded against your chest as the lulling sound of a violin filled your ears, and your palms began to grow sweaty. “Sherlock?” 

The man at the window whipped around, lowering the violin in his hand. “Ah, Mary! John’s in the kitchen making tea. Feel free to join him.” His cerulean blue eyes flickered between you and your sister, narrowing the longer he stared at you. It took a moment for you to comprehend he was trying to read you. 

One of the perks of your past was that no one could read you on the first try. You were a closed book to most people until they either - proved themselves or earned your trust. It wasn’t like you tried to barricade your heart, but the circumstances had made it happen. The only person you had ever trusted almost off the bat was John, who Mary hadn’t stopped talking about since she’d met him. He was sweet, compassionate, driven… dedicated. Dedicated to the man who stood in front of you. 

  “And you are?” 

  “Oh, I am going to enjoy this.” You mused, holding a hand up to your younger sister as she and John attempted to break into the conversation. “You can’t read me, can you? The narrowing, the flicker back and forth between myself and Mary, scanning my clothing and possessions, you read people through observation.” Sherlock went slightly slack jawed as you snapped your fingers. “Deduction! That’s the term.” 

  “Sherlock, this is my older sister.” Mary said slowly, pressing her lips together to try and hide her smirk. “Y/N. She’s my Maid of Honor.” 

  “I already knew that.” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly as he pressed his hands against his hips. “Older by a year, used to be engaged but was broken off. That’s why there’s an imprint of a ring on your finger. The overwhelming smell of coffee beans and the small stains on the cuffs of your blouse suggest you work in a coffee shop or you had coffee on your way in this morning. No animals, otherwise you’d have hair on your trousers. I-” He paused for a moment and breathed out through his nose. “I’m having a hard time getting the rest. That’s-” 

  “Abnormal?” You chided with a slightly amused tone. Sherlocks jaw tightened as you took a seat in Johns chair and crossed your legs at the ankles. “I’m good at this game myself, Mr. Holmes. You’re exceptionally skilled at the violin and have been playing for a number of years judging from the callouses growing on your fingers that press on the strings. You pride yourself off of your deductions and prying people apart, or you used to before your supposed suicide attempt. Being away from London for so long, making the people you love believe you’re dead tends to soften one up.” 

  “Those aren’t deductions.” Sherlock snapped, taking one long stride until he was up in your face. You were only a few inches shorter then him, but equally hard headed and cunning with your words. “I can only assume Mary told you all of this.” 

  “There’s remnants of dust on the windowsills, which means this flat was unoccupied for some time. You have the mind of a scientist, but you choose to be a detective because you think murders are interesting.” You sniffed the air and wrinkled your nose. “Once addicted to cigarettes, judging from the stale air but now you’re trying to go cold turkey off of… cocaine. Should I keep going?” 

  “No. Just tell me, were my deductions correct? The ones I was able to make?” Your lips quirked upward in a smile as you sat back down in the chair, leaning your head against the cushion. “Oh, you _are_ infuriating. Aren’t you going to humor me and answer my question?” 

  ‘’That would be playing fair,” You replied bluntly. “But I’m a fair woman. No. Your deductions were wrong. I’m an immaculate woman who lives alone with my German Shepherd, who although sheds alot, I always lint roll my pants before walking out the door. I am Mary’s older sister by a year. I don’t work in a coffee shop, I had coffee on my way in this morning.” You clucked your tongue out of disappointment. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Holmes. I expected you to read me better.” 

The impending silence was due to Mary and John sneaking out of the flat while  the two of you were bickering. You glanced around the flat and cursed when you realized the couple had indeed run off, leaving you with the Detective. “You’re a closed book.” Sherlock replied quietly, snatching his violin and standing by the window. “I’ve seen them before. Not impossible to read, may I add. I didn’t want John to know any details you weren’t willing to divulge yourself.” 

Your heart stopped as your head snapped up, y/h/c strands blocking your eyes from his view. “You went easy on me?” You said softly, your eyes widening as Sherlock nodded. “Why?” 

  “Not every closed book wants to be opened again, y/n. Besides,” He knelt down in front of you, violin still poised, and began to play a morbid requiem he’d been composing for several days. “It’s hard to act like an ass to a woman such as yourself. You are.. stunning.” 

  “Is that flirting I hear, Sherlock Holmes?” 

  “It’s not just words. It’s me proclaiming that your beauty is something to marvel at.” You felt your cheeks grow hot as you ducked your head, your hair hiding your face from Sherlocks view. His gaze softened as he parted your hair and tilted your chin upward towards him. “You were engaged, but there’s no ring. What happened to it?” 

  “You were right about that too. My fiance died over a year ago. I used to wear the ring on a chain but when Mary told me I was meeting a man who reads people off the bat, I wanted to see if it would make it harder. It did.” Your eyes flickered down to his bow shaped lips just inches from yours, and you let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “Are you going to kiss me Sherlock?” 

  ‘’I think it would be a shame if I didn’t.” He whispered, his breath warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut as Sherlocks hands pressed against your thighs, lightly squeezing as he lifted the upper half of his body and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. 

From where they stood in the hall, Mary curled her fingers into a fist and silently fist bumped John who was beaming at the sight in front of him. “You seriously expected him to like her at first sight? That’s so.. not Sherlock.” 

  “What can I say? We Morstans are.. _irresistible.”_


	3. Tiny But Mighty - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: To distract Sherlock, you suggest playing a game of CLUE to pass the time. Little do the two of you know that you’re both incredibly competitive.

  “How about a walk?” 

  “For the _final_ time Sherlock, John was very clear on your rules. You seem to not notice that you are getting over being sick and you have broken blood vessels in your eye. You’re not leaving the flat!” 

It had been a number of days since the incident with Culverton Smith, and Sherlock Holmes was not a man that you could keep confined inside for very long. He lived and breathed adventure, and to spend his days inside was slowly driving him insane. 

Sherlock sat up from his spot on the sofa, a mischievous grin spreading across his battered features. “We’ve still got CLUE.” He suggested, pulling the game box out from underneath the sofa. You’d heard alot about this game from John since you’d become Sherlocks girlfriend after The Reichenbach Fall, but you’d never had the experience to play it yourself. 

  “I’m so going to regret this.” 

***

  “Y/N, can you _be_ any slower? John may return with Rosie at the rate you’re going.”

 You leaned forward on your knees and intently studied the game board. “If you don’t shut up, you’re going to learn what my wrath looks like.” You snapped, pressing your lips together as his eyes lit up. It had been an hour and a half since you started, and his sarcastic comments about your actual lack of knowledge for this game was beginning to get under your skin. “Who’s to say that Mr. Boddy wasn’t killed in the sitting room? What incentive does the butler have to off his boss?” 

  “Like I said, you see but you do not observe.” 

  “I _observe_ that you’re a cheater! You can’t use your deduction skills in this game!” You cried out. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow as you jumped to your feet and stood in a fighting position, your hands fisted in front of you. “I’m going to fight you, Sherlock Holmes.” 

The grin that spread across his face made your heart melt. “Do you want me to teach you how to observe?” He mused, gasping as you took another step forward and lightly punched him in the forearm. “I observe that you’re the cutest short human being I quite possibly have ever seen in my life.” 

  “This cute human being is going to beat that adorable smirk off your face.” You collapsed in his embrace and smiled as he kissed the top of your forehead, wrapping his arms around your waist as you flipped off the CLUE board and launched it across the room. “I vote next time you’re incapacitated and on doctors orders that we just watch movies, and you deduce the endings until your heart stops. Sound good?” 

  “Can I spoil the movies for you?” 

  “We’ll talk about it.” 

John entered the flat with Rose balanced on his hip and rose an eyebrow at the disaster that was the CLUE board and pieces. His eyes flickered towards where you sat on the sofa, Sherlocks head in your lap and the rest of his body curled up in the fetal position. “Good Lord, it looks like a tornado came through here.” He mused, sitting the baby down in her high chair. “I take it CLUE went as expected?” 

  “I may or may not have threatened to beat him stupid for cheating.” You kissed your biceps and wiggled your eyebrows at John. “I may be tiny, but I’m more mighty than anything Sherlock Holmes can deal with. He should fear me.” 

  “You’ve been saying that since we met, and believe me, we all fear your ferocity.” 

  “ _Finally!”_


	4. Keep Breathing - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You and Sherlock are in a bit of a conundrum. You’re locked inside Lestrades office closet in Scotland Yard for the rest of the night, and you happen to be extremely claustrophobic. So, like a good boyfriend, Sherlock takes it upon himself to calm your fears.

_“_ A case! I finally got us an interesting case!” Sherlock proclaimed. It had been nearly a week since he’d solved his last case, and you knew as well as anyone else that a restless Sherlock Holmes was an irritating one. “Y/N! Where are you?” 

 You softly padded out of the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend of two years, buttoning the top buttons of his lavender dress shirt that you frequently wore when you spent the night. “You have a case for us to solve, Mr. Holmes?” You mused, a slight hint of seductiveness lurking in your voice. Whatever Sherlock was planning to say was halted as he then realized how close the two of you really were and how little space was left between your bodies. Intimacy still wasn’t his strong suit. 

   “You’re standing too close to me.” His voice had dropped down an octave as his eyes flickered from your own to your lips. You rolled your eyes and turned away, gasping as he wrenched you backwards by your hips and allowed his head to fall to your neck. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it Y/N, but I’m not permitting another man to gaze at you like I can. Get dressed, and we’ll leave.” 

  “What exactly are we doing?” You questioned, cocking your hip as you leaned against the doorway to your bedroom. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and adjusted his white dress shirt, which was becoming far too tight against the toned muscles of his chest. 

  “We’re breaking into Scotland Yard.” 

On Friday nights, most of the Detectives in Scotland Yard went out to the local pubs for drinks with one another, which left most of the building unoccupied albeit the remaining senior detectives working nearly around the clock. Unfortunately that also included Greg Lestrade, but not tonight. Tonight, Sherlock had set up a complementary meal for both the DI and pathologist Molly Hooper to share several blocks away. 

One of the perks of taking John Watsons place while he raised his baby was that you were in charge of choosing your own outfits when working cases, which were basically comprised of dark colored blouses and form fitting dark jeans, with your favorite leather jacket and combat boots. Sherlock had always admired your tastefulness in fashion. “You see that closet?” He whispered, jabbing a thumb towards the office in the back. “We’re gonna hide in there. That’s where the files we need are.” 

Your breathing immediately hitched at the thought of being stuck inside a small space for God knew how long. Your severe claustrophobia was one of the few things you hadn’t told Sherlock in the time you had been a couple, and you were instantly regretting it as you sneaked past the janitors and remaining detectives to break into Lestrades office. 

  “Sherlock, there’s something I need to tell you-” You said quickly, gasping as another voice rounded the corner on the other side of Lestrades office. “Why, _why_ does it have to be Anderson!?” 

Sherlock shoved you inside the closet, completely missing the file cabinet in the corner of the room, where your files actually _were._ You breathed heavily beneath his hand clasped over your mouth, desperately trying to control your dizziness as the walls seemed to be coming closer and closer from where you were pinned against the door. 

  “He’s complaining about Lestrade. Figures.” Sherlock felt a change in the air as your breathing became frantic and your body went limp beneath his. “Easy y/n, what’s going on?” 

  “I-I can’t- _breathe.”_

His eyes widened as a sudden flash of an earlier conversation sped through his memory; he had asked you to step inside one of the cages in Baskerville and you had adamantly refused. He hadn’t taken into consideration your inability to remain in the bathroom at 221B for long, or how fear was always visible when in the midst of a confined space. “Why didn’t you tell me you had claustrophobia?” Sherlock murmured, groping for your hands in the dark. “I would have asked you to babysit Rosie so John could do this with me-” 

You desperately gripped the lapels of his trench coat, pulling him close enough to you that you could feel his breath ghost over your skin. “Talk to me.” You panted. “Talk to me, kiss me, just give me a _bloody distraction_. The walls, they’re getting closer-” 

Sherlock nodded firmly and sat on the floor, twining your legs together and reaching outward to take your hand in his own. His fingertips danced up your forearm, where he began tracing words as he recanted one of his favorite cases in thorough detail; the same case where he’d realized how attached he was to you. 

_The storm is coming but I don’t mind  
People are dying, I close my blinds_

  “Moriarty had me cornered on the roof on top of St. Barts. He kept going on and on about Richard Brook, the man he had created. An alter ego of himself meant to desecrate my reputation and my name.”  _  
_

It was getting easier to concentrate on the man in front of you. That beautiful, insane man.

 _All that I know is I’m breathing now_  
  
  “At first he’d said that John was going to be one of three people who bit the bullet if I didn’t jump. And then he changed his mind and started talking about you. When he shot himself.. I knew that was it. I had to fake my suicide in order to save the people I cared about most, and the love of my life.” 

If he couldn’t tell, at that point there were tears streaming down your face. Sherlock was absentmindedly tracing the same word over and over again on the inside of your wrist with the tip of his finger.

 _I want to change the world_  
Instead I sleep  
I want to believe in more than you and me  
  
  “I assume you saw the letter I left beneath your pillow. My supposed suicide note telling you to wait for me, because no matter what happened, I’d be returning to you.” He paused briefly for a moment at the soft sound of your sleeve dragging against your skin. “Did that help?” 

A smile spread across your face as you leaned forward and captured his lips in your own, dragging your fingers through his mass of black curls. 

_All that i know is I’m breathing now_

Pulling away, you leaned upward and slowly turned the doorknob, peering through the crack only to find Scotland Yard void of any remaining persons. Your eyes lit up as you turned towards Sherlock and grinned, reaching outward to take his hand. “Immensely.” 

The next day you went to the tattoo parlor and watched as the artist inscribed the word _Mine_ right on the inside of your wrist.


	5. Where My Heart Used To Be - Sherlock x Daughter!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @foureyedsiopao: Being Sherlock Holmes daughter is one of the most tragic parts of your story. You never knew what happened to your mother but be it as it were, Mary and John Watson have adopted you as their own daughter. But every night you woke up having the same dream… A dream that includes the man who left you behind.

_“Sherlock, take a look at me and use your deduction skills. What do you see?”_

_Sherlock looked up from his laptop to his wife standing in the kitchen, wearing one of his dress shirts and low hanging sweat pants. Her face was clear of makeup and her fingers were wrapped around the rim of her favorite tea cup. “I see that you’re breath taking.” He said lowly, wrapping his fingers around your hips. “And you’re not drinking your normal coffee. Your clothes are baggy and low hanging-”_

_A soft smile spread across your face as you set your cup down on the table in the center of the room, cupping his cheek in your small hands. Hands that had memorized his body through the darkest hours of the night, hands that had held him as he cried over the uncertainty of ~~his~~ their future. “You’re getting warmer, Detective.” You whispered. “Lower your hands.” _

_His hands fell to your stomach, and in that moment, it seemed to all fall together. “You-Are you pregnant?” Sherlock murmured in disbelief, his smile widening as you nodded eagerly. “We’re going to be parents.”_

_“You’re going to be a father, Sherlock Holmes!”_

You woke up in a cold sweat, your y/h/c plastered to your cheeks as you slowly began to control your frantic breathing. The air in your room was chilled from the open window, the only source of light coming from the hallway where Mary normally left the light on at night. “Y/N, sweetheart? Are you alright?” 

Mary Watson stepped into your bedroom dressed in her nightgown, tying her red robe around her body. You lifted your head from in between your knees and tilted your head, studying her up and down. It was quite obvious you weren’t her biological child, but she and John had passed you off to be their own and it was exactly what you needed. 

  “I keep having this dream about the same man and woman. I’m not sure why..” You rested your hand over your heart and sighed deeply. “It’s like they’re engraved into my memory and they simply won’t _leave.”_

_Sherlock redistributed his weight between his knees as John watched him pace the length of the waiting room. He’d caused enough ruckus in the delivery room that they had kicked him out just as you had begun to push. “I’m sure she’s alright, Sherlock. It’s normal for women to scream during birth. Take it from a doctor who knows.”_

_He opened his mouth to respond when the screaming suddenly ceased and was replaced with the cries of an infant. Both men lifted their heads to the door where the nurse stood. “Mr Holmes? Would you like to meet your daughter?”_

_It was the first time Sherlock cried in front of John. And it was also the first time John Watson witnessed Sherlock fall head over heels in love in the second it took his daughters fingers to wrap around his own._

You had always been good at observing, but the older you got, the better you were. It wasn’t until your three year anniversary of being in the Watsons care that you finally began to question just who the man and woman constantly haunting your dreams were. 

  “What aren’t you telling me dad?” You cried, drawing Johns attention away from Mary and to you standing in the doorway. “Why do I keep having these dreams?! I know I’m obviously not your child judging from the observation that I _obviously_ don’t look like you or Mum. The man and woman in my dreams.. _I look exactly like them_.” Tears ran down your face as you pounded at your chest and slowly sank to your knees. “Why do these people keep hurting me?” 

  “Oh Y/N, you truly do have the mind of a Holmes.” 

_Sherlock had the nagging fear of imminent loss in the back of his mind for months, but he had never expected it to come this far. You were forced on your knees in front of him, a gun pressed to the back of your head. The cool metal was taunting against your clammy skin, but you could never take your eyes off your husband. He would save you. He always did._

_“You didn’t follow the rules of the game Sherlock.” Jim taunted, dancing around your hunched over form as your fingers dug into the dirt. “I’ve been thinking about how to punish you for months, and then it came to me!” He clucked his tongue and you let out a whimper as he slid the slide back on his handgun. “Why not use your gorgeous, clever wife? It’s sure to break you more then me taking your perfect daughter. But how to do it?”_

_You weren’t afraid of dying. Dying was the easy part; it was the life Sherlock would have to live with your daughter once you were gone that terrified you. Your daughter was nearly ten years old now, but you had made sure she was unaware of the level of crimes that Sherlock often found himself involved in. She called him her superhero._

_“I vote we just take one for the team!” Moriarty taunted. “You have any final words to rectify your mistake Sherlock? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to see your wife again.”_

_Sherlock lifted his head and locked eyes with you, his cupids bow lips pressed against together as he thought of what to say. “Tick tock, tick tock Sherlock Holmes!”_

_“Y/N… I love you.”_

_The last memory of you that would be engraved into his brain was your fingers stretched out towards him as the bullet pierced your skull, your once bright y/e/c eyes dimmed as they stared blankly into space._

_You hadn’t even gotten to say your goodbye. But your hands.. those hands he loved, they had reached for him. Because he was supposed to save you, and he didn’t._

You curled up in Johns arms, your legs stretched out over Marys lap as John explained your dreams to you. “The man you keep seeing in your dream, do you look like him?” He murmured softly, running his fingers through your hair. You closed your eyes and in a moment, your mind palace was in front of your eyes. 

A younger version of yourself was standing in a scruffy flat, most of the furniture spread out over an area rug that occupied most of the room. There was a weathered skull on top of endless amounts of papers on the mantle piece. There was a homely smell in the flat that made your insides warm. 

The flat made you happy. It reminded you of something you never thought you’d have- _your own home._

An older man with raven curls stood by the window, an violin poised in his hands as he composed a somber sounding piece. His blue eyes nearly mirrored your own- haunted and broken but resilient and daring. You walked circles around him, studying his tall form and chiseled features.

  “Yes. The man looks like like me. Everything about him looks like me.” 

John inhaled sharply as he suddenly realized what you were actually doing, going through your mind palace. Unlike Sherlock, your mind palace happened to be one of the places that meant the most to you. _221B. “_ Your father is a dangerous man who has interacted with equally dangerous people in the past. There was one man above all who was criminally insane, and the man who murdered your mother. Your father… He couldn’t deal with the loss of your mother, so he entrusted you to us and we took you in as _our_ daughter. You were old enough to retain memories, but we didn’t talk about your family and you were soon under the impression that we were actually your parents. But we can’t keep a Holmes mind asleep for long. Seems you figured it out.”

You screwed your eyes tightly shut as you struggled to comprehend the fact that the man who had literally helped to create you was the same man who had willingly given you up. “I want to meet him. I want him to know that you and Mum fill the space where my heart used to be. He deserves to know the pain he caused.” 

_(AN: this is now about his daughter)_

_One of the most painful things Sherlock Holmes ever had to do was give you up. His blood daughter, his princess, the one person who still had some inkling of faith left in him._

_Sherlock knelt down in front of you and gripped your tiny hands in his own, kissing the back of your knuckles as John and Mary left the living room to gather your things. “Y/N my love, you’re going to go away for a little while. But I want you to know that everything is going to be okay, alright?”_

_Your lips quivered as tears ran down your face, your arms wrapped around his neck as he stood to his feet. “When is Mummy coming home?” You cried, burying your face as deep in his neck as you could. Sherlock repressed the urge to sob at the mention of his passed wife, whose funeral he had deliberately scheduled for tomorrow after you left. “I don’t want to go Daddy! I’m supposed to be your sidekick!”_

_“Every sidekick has to have a day off, just like a superhero.” Sherlock kissed your cheek and managed a strong smile despite the pain rocketing through his soul, his heart, his very being. “I love you Y/N. Can you be a good girl for me?”_

_You nodded weakly and glanced behind you where Mary and John were waiting. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t fight crime without me Daddy!”_

You had been so naive, so clueless, and so horribly wrong. Despite the abiding pain in his heart, Sherlock Holmes was a man who needed his daughter to come home. 

Sherlock had been getting ready to leave the flat to go to Scotland Yard when he came face to face with John and Mary right outside Speedys Cafe. They had given no warning that they were coming, but the moment the two of them parted, he felt his heart stop. “John? What are you doing here?” 

John glanced at Mary through his peripheral vision and slowly exhaled, parting the wall to reveal your form standing behind them. You’d matured so much in the few years they’d kept Sherlock away from you. “I kept wondering who the man and woman in my dreams were. They looked so happy and so _in love_ that it was almost painful to watch. There was screaming, so much screaming and so much pain that I could feel your despair. Your suffering.” Sherlocks eyes never left yours as you now stood inches away from him, your hand stretched outward to rest on top of his heart. “It took me a while, but I put it together.” Tears filled his eyes as you lifted your head (he was still so much taller then you) and smiled widely. “Hello Daddy. Did you miss me?”

Sherlock gasped so loudly as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck as the two of you stumbled on the sidewalk together. It had been a long time since he’d felt whole. “I did miss you love.” He murmured, burying his face in your neck as you mussed with his hair. “You look so much like your mum.. It’s remarkable.” 

He set you down on the sidewalk and followed your gaze up to the main window in 221B. “Can we go back to fighting crime now?” You puffed out your chest and gripped your hips, just like the superheroes did in all the movies. 

Sherlock grinned widely as he hopped up onto the stoop and threw open the door. “After you, my dear!” 

_Dear Daddy,_

_No matter where I go or who I love, you will always be the man who holds my heart. And I will always be the one who helps carry your cape. Fighting crimes to the ends of the Earth forever._

_Always yours, Y/N Holmes_

 


	6. The Idiot On Baker Street - Sherlock Holmes x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You’re the secret girlfriend to Sherlock Holmes, and you also happen to be living with him on occasion. Having a junkie boyfriend definitely has its cons, like unnecessary drug busts.

 “Y/N, what have you done with it?! You know that I need it-” Sherlock halted his sentence as you sat up in his bed, quirking an eyebrow as he rummaged through the trunk at the foot of the bed. The two of you had been dating since John and Mary’s wedding, and you had somehow managed to convince him to go cold turkey for you. It hadn’t worked out well. “ _Please.”_

  “Not a _chance_ , Sherlock Holmes-” You cried out as he lunged over the bed, straddling your hips as he pinned your hands above your head. You wiggled your eyebrows at protest and it only proceeded to make his angered facade fall into laughter. “You see, now _this_ is something I do well.” A low growl left his throat as he moved to capture your lips but instead found himself on the side of your face. “Kissing me is not going to change my mind. Better luck next time.” 

Sherlock ran his hands over his face and heaved a sigh. “You sure do not make things easy.” He muttered, peering out from behind his open fingers. “You owe me.” 

  “I don’t owe you crap.” You replied sarcastically, grinning as Sherlock bent over and threw your duffel bag at your face. “I’ll always be your girl, Sherlock Holmes.” Standing in the doorway, Sherlock turned to admire you from a far, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in his bed while wearing his favorite shirt. Your y/h/c hair was thrown up into a loose pony tail and your face was clear of any makeup. In others words, he thought you were the most beautiful woman to walk the streets of London. 

  “I’m making tea. Do you want some?” 

You pulled your phone out from beneath the pillow, smiling at the lockscreen as you checked the time. One of your favorite things to do when Sherlock was in withdrawal was take him to a spot your parents had shown you when you were younger; A secluded area on the opposite side of the river Thames. That was the first date the two of you had been on, and you’d somehow managed to take one picture the entire night. Your head tucked beneath Sherlocks while he stared up at the stars. It made your heart race every time you looked at it, over and over again. 

  “If it’ll help you stop complaining, yes.” You replied. “I have to be at work in thirty minutes. Leave me to get changed.” 

It hadn’t even been ten minutes when Anderson came busting through the front door of the flat with Sally Donovan in tow, several members of Scotland Yard staked outside the flat. “ _Anderson!”_ Sherlock yelled indignantly as detectives began to search the flat. “And Donovan?! What do you think you’re doing!” 

  “We got a tip that you were doing again-” Donovan started, smirking as Andersons eyes trailed to the back bedroom where the door was just slightly cracked. “So we came to clear out all the contraband.” 

  “Did Lestrade even authorize this!” Sherlock snapped, his eyes widening as Anderson opened the bedroom door and let out a rather feminine yelp. You had been in the middle of changing into your floral print sundress for work, having just put on your bra. “Oh my _Lord.”_

 _“_ Who is this, and _why_ is she half clothed in your bedroom?!” Phillip exclaimed, using both of his hands to cover his eyes. You quickly pulled on your dress as Sherlock entered the room, taking the liberty to zip it up. “Miss, I am so sorry-” 

Sherlock had to turn away when you lashed out and kicked the other man rather hard in the knee, sending him sinking to the floor before the following punch to his jaw made him go unconscious. “I take it this ones the idiot on Baker Street.” You snapped, rolling your eyes as Sherlock nodded firmly. “I think I lost a few brains cells and the use of my fingers knocking him out cold.” 

  “You want to lose a few more?” Sherlock murmured quietly, motioning to Donovan who was inspecting a baggie that happened to look like it had cocaine in it. Little was she aware of the fact you and John had hidden several of them around the flat to trick Sherlock into thinking he still had drugs in the vicinity. You’d flushed all of it down the toilet over a week ago. “That’s the woman who jeopardized my name back when Moriarty was alive.” 

Your eyes widened at the memory, when Sherlock had told you about the Reichenbach at the wedding reception. “ _That’s Donovan?”_ You growled, balling your fists together. “It’ll be my pleasure.” 

Lestrade had gotten notice of an unauthorized drug bust and immediately made his way to Baker Street only to find most of his men had gone back to the Yard, leaving Donovan and Anderson behind. He entered the flat rather urgently, and just in time to see you knock Sally Donovan off her feet and slump unconscious on the couch. 

His eyes widened as you blew on your knuckles and stood to your feet, dusting your dress off and taking your high heels from Sherlock. “What-What happened here?!” He questioned. “And who are you?” You dangled your pumps from two fingers and turned to the Detective Inspector with a large smile. 

  “The Idiots on Baker Street made their usual appearance for a drug bust.” You replied, motioning to Anderson who was just beginning to come back from unconsciousness. “Should’ve known better then to mess with a woman, much less Sherlock Holmes girlfriend.’’ Lestrades jaw dropped as you kissed Sherlocks cheek and cast an incredulous look at Donovan. “Have a splendid day, Detective Lestrade. And please.. do keep your lackeys away from here. The next person to walk in on me half naked will most definitely have their teeth kicked in.” 


	7. These Wounds Won't Seem To Heal - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: On the way to work one morning in the torrential downpour that is London, you happen to get into a rather bad car crash. It’s not enough to kill you, but it’s enough to make Sherlock go nuts.

 “ _Hi, this is Y/N. If I haven’t answered, I’m solving crimes with the worlds only Consulting Detective who also happens to be my husband. Leave a message!”_

Sherlock huffed and pressed his thumb against the pound key. “Y/n, you only left for work twenty minutes ago, and judging by the fact that you haven’t answered, I’d say you’re probably back seat driving the cabbie. You’re worrying me love, pick up the phone please.” 

You and Sherlock were newly weds, having been best friends since John moved into 221B several years before. You spent most of your time with the war doctor and the Detective, and before you’d realized it, you were falling in love with Sherlock Holmes. 

  “ _I-I don’t know what THIS is!” Sherlock yelled, startling you as he pounded his fists against his chest. “Every time I look at you, my heart goes faster and my head begins to pound! I’m absolutely clueless to the stimulating response my body goes through when you enter a room-”_

_“You-” You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood on your tiptoes, your lips ghosting over Sherlocks as lightly as you possibly could. He easily sank into your embrace, his fingers tangling in your hair as you leaned backwards to get a better look at his eyes. “You bloody twit, you are in love with me.”_

  “Oh, Sherlock! Haven’t you looked down the street? There’s a car crash just another mile down the road!” Mrs Hudson chided, throwing open the window shams. The rain had let up enough to visibly see the street, and as Sherlock looked out the window, it only took him a minute to deduce that your cab was indeed one of the two that had wrecked. “Where-Where are you going?!” 

  “That’s my wives cab! She could be hurt! She could be-” Sherlock halted at the front door of the building, running his hands over his scruff as realization smacked him rather hard in the mouth. “She could be dead.” 

Mrs. Hudson snorted indignantly as she passed him his Belstaff. “Your wife is one of the most fiery women I’ve ever met in my life. Plus she was crazy enough to marry you. I can guarantee you she’s not dead-” 

But Sherlock was out the door before she could finish her sentence.

_For me, just do it for me Y/N. Don’t be dead._

***

John Watson had seen you come into the hospital when Mary was having her checkup, insisting that he know how you had obtained your injuries. Your most major problem was a broken leg from the impact of the door, but other then that you mainly had several bruises and lacerations. 

  “Has Sherlock shown up yet?” Mary questioned, leaning against her husbands arm as they sat in the waiting room. Both of them had demanded to be in your private room once they had reset your leg, but the doctors had only taken you into the OR twenty minutes before, and they were not finished yet. “And here he comes!”

John opened his mouth to respond but was met with a wave of security guards, all shouting commands at one another as they swarmed the nurses station. Had it not been for the dark black curls and scruff, he would have never known it was Sherlock demanding to see his wife. “I’m sorry sir, but patient records and information are confidential. I can’t disclose them to you.” 

  “Like you can’t! She’s my wife!” Sherlock growled, tilting his head as several of the nurses rallied behind the desk. “You slept with your boss to get you a reputation,” He moved his finger down the line and continued to point out the biggest flaws in the remaining nurses. “You do too much botox to try and please your husband, you’re far too concerned what the woman in radiology thinks, and you’re questioning your sexuality.. My God, please _get a life!”_

The former war doctor muttered apologies to the nurses as he drug Sherlock towards Mary, whose face became sympathetic as she motioned for him to sit beside her. “Sherlock, we saw her when she came in here. She’s banged up, but she’ll be alright. The worst of it is that she has a broken leg.” 

Sherlock laughed in disbelief, pulling his phone from his pocket to show John the five text messages he’d sent you from the moment you walked out the door to the supposed time of the crash. 

_I love you. - SH_

_We need something good for dinner. The head might have contaminated the frozen chicken breasts. - SH_

_You, my love, are secretly wearing the red lingerie underneath your dress aren’t you? Naughty girl. -SH_

_Can you pick up milk on the way home? Used the rest to make coffee. - SH_

_P.S. There’s now eyes in said coffee. - SH_

  “I asked her, I asked her to bring home _milk_ and in return, she gets into a bloody car wreck!” Sherlock exclaimed, his arms falling at his sides as Mary patted his thigh reassuringly. “How _stupid_ is that?” 

  “Mr and Mrs. Watson, Y/N has been moved into recovery.” All three heads shot up as the lead orthopedic surgeon stepped into sight and managed a wide smile. “The bone has been set successfully, so now we’ll cast her up when she’s awake and send her home. Is there someone we can call?” 

  “ME!” Sherlock deadpanned, waving his hands in front of the doctors face. “I tried to tell your nurses at the station that I’m her husband-” He lifted his gold wedding band to their line of sight and waved it back and forth out of annoyance and disregard. “But no one would believe me!” 

  “I believe you sir.” The doctor reassured, clasping Sherlock on the shoulder as he led him and the Watsons in the direction of your room. “Any man that’s so possessive over a woman is sure to be in love if not married to her.” 

Your eyes were just beginning to flutter open at the sound of voices, the morphine in your system numbing most of the pain from your injuries. “Hello?” You called out weakly. “S-Sherlock?” John squeezed his best friends shoulder and motioned for him to step into your room, giving an encouraging nod. 

  “Hello love. You nearly drove me nuts by not answering your stupid phone.” He pulled up the chair beside your bed and took your bruised hand in his own, frowning as he ran his fingers over your knuckles. “I thought you were dead.” 

  “A car crash ending me? That’s the best you can do?” You deadpanned. Your gaze softened as you realized that he was indeed telling the truth- hence why his eyes were glassy and his breathing was eradicated; nearly on the verge of a hysterical breakdown. “Sherlock, I promise I’m fine. Just a broken leg.” You patted the open space beside you and he immediately crawled into it, careful not to dislodge any of your IV’s as his arms wrapped around your thin frame, your head now tucked beneath his chin. “I was backseating the cabbie. He was a terrible driver.” 

He chuckled and buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla. “I’m not surprised. You tend to do that to all of them.” A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers wrapped around the ties on your hospital gown, ghosting over the flesh of your back. “They took your lingerie off I bought you for our wedding night. I’m quite offended.” 

  “Yes, because what male doctor throws away scarlet red hot lingerie?” You replied sarcastically. “Check with the personal items. My phone should be in there too.” Mary and John stepped into the room just in time to witness Sherlock carry your face in his own hands ever so gently, his lips pressing against your forehead as he began his search for your personal belongings. 

He didn’t even get to leave the room. 

  “Uh, Sherlock?” Your tone became urgent as your pupils dilated, your focus now on the two people in your doorway. Judging by the way Sherlock regarded them as if he knew them, they weren’t strangers. Not to him anyway. “Who are the people in my doorway? I-I don’t know them. Can they leave?” 

  “Y/N, this is John Watson.’’ Sherlock said slowly, his expression one of confusion as he set his hand on Johns shoulder. “You met him years ago when he moved into the flat with me. You call him Hedgehog because let’s be honest, he looks like one. And he’s basically your brother. Mary? She’s his wife and she’s carrying their child. A little girl. You’ve been helping with the baby shower-” 

  “I don’t know you. _Either_ of you. Can you please leave?” Your finger hovered over the call button on the side of the bed, which was sure to alert any nearby nurses or staff. “I can get you into some serious trouble if you don’t go! Leave!” 

_That smile. The one that always said “I have faith in who you are.”_

_The endless nights of being locked out of the flat when Sherlock was in his mind palace._

_His war stories._

_Their wedding day. The first time Sherlock had really, genuinely expressed how he felt about you despite the fact you’d been dating for well over a year._

Everything around you- the hospital room, the sheets on your bed, the rank smell of chloroseptic in the air. All of it was just so _bleak._ The woman had started to cry as Sherlock motioned her and her husband from the room to speak to them about whatever was going on. 

You obviously cared about them enough to draw her to tears. But there was the problem. 

_Why couldn’t you remember the ones you love?_


	8. Dreams Made Real - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You were with Sherlock before the Reichenbach Fall as his wife. With being the consulting Detectives spouse you also claim his friends, which is how you grew close to John Watson, who is unaware just like yourself that the entire thing was faked. The rest? You’ll have to keep reading.

  ‘’ _John, give the phone to Y/N please.”_

_“Sherlock, there has to be a way for us to get you out of this.” You pleaded, leaning all your weight against John as you knees began to buckle. “Please, please tell me there’s a way out of this.”_

_“I need you to keep living. When I’m gone, I want you to find a new husband. Go to the opera. Dance in the rain. Just be.. you. Can you do that for me?” You pressed your hand over your mouth and nodded, screwing your eyes tightly shut as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Goodbye Y/N.”_

_“SHERLOCK!”_

_The weightlessness. The fall. Your heart stops beating, then it’s over._

That had been over a year ago. Just as Sherlock had requested, you’d done all the things the two of you had written down that you would do together. You dressed in Sherlocks favorite dress and attended the opera in Central London. You stood outside on the sidewalk in the pouring rain on Baker Street and danced your favorite dance- the waltz. But you did it alone and it tore you apart. 

The one thing you consistently did to try and lift your spirits was visit John, who had moved out of Baker Street and spiraled into a depression. You had never expected to rely on John, but here you were, spending all your available time with the War Doctor who never returned home. 

  “ _He’s dead, Y/N. You spent all those months inside a dead mans flat expecting.. what? For him to return?” John snapped, running his hands through his mussed blonde hair. You rose an eyebrow and pressed your hands against your hips, prepared to take on the rage that John had been keeping pent up. “Do you ever allow yourself to grieve? To just.. fall apart?”_

_“You want to know when I fell apart John? When my husband told me to go do all the things that **we** were supposed to do. When Sherlock Holmes, the most intelligent man and my best friend, actually jumped off a roof because he thought he was a fraud. That’s when I fell apart. Now I have to believe that there’s something greater coming, and maybe if I’m lucky..” You exhaled through your nose and lifted your head to meet Johns eyes. “He’ll come back to me.” _

After constant contemplating, you found yourself inside of 221B despite the fact it was a mess, beginning to piece it back to what it used to be. The skull returned to the mantle, the violin was tuned, the chemistry set cleaned and returned to its rightful place. 

It was in May of the following year by the time you were beginning to feel like yourself. It was remarkably warm for London, and you were finishing the last of the spring cleaning with the windows open. Mrs. Hudson had brought up your morning tea, commenting on how much _brighter_ you seemed to be. 

  “Why on Earth do you continue to watch that rubbish?” A deep baritone, one that constantly haunted your dreams remarked. “You have such a brilliant mind that you could deduce the endings of every episode of this show.” 

You slowly turned around to meet those familiar, deep blue eyes that you loved so much. Your husband of now three years stood in the doorway, discarding his Belstaff over John’s old chair as he took another step towards you. “If you take another step towards me, I may slap your pretty face.” You said quietly. “Is this a dream? Because I did watch you fall. Off a tall building.” 

  “I can explain everything I did later, but right now, let me hold you.” He commented. Your eyes narrowed as Sherlock took another step towards you, his muscular body just now inches from your own. Everything you had been feeling since watching him jump off that roof came rushing out at once- anger, guilt, rage, indescribable sadness, rushed through your blood stream and collided with Sherlocks cheekbone in a slap so hard that it jarred his head to the side. “Oh, I forgot you had a fantastic slap.” 

  “You let me go _two years_ convinced that you were dead, you twit!” You exclaimed. You squirmed as his arms wrapped around your waist and his head fell to your shoulder, his breath warming your chilled skin. “I can’t believe you did this, you ignorant-” 

  “Shhhh.” He whispered softly, his hands wrapping around your hips underneath his lavender dress shirt on your body. “Did you do all those things I told you to do? Go to the opera? Dance in the rain?” 

The tension in your shoulders receded as you registered the feeling of his hands sliding up your body. Hands so warm and so inviting that it sent chills down your spine. “Everything I could do on my own. I even danced the waltz, alone. That’s _our_ dance. Why did you lie to me?” 

  “I disassembled Moriarty’s crime network all across Eastern Europe. It took me two years and alot of torture to endure, but I did it. Mycroft got me out of Serbia and brought me back here. back to you and John. It’s finished. I’m not going anywhere ever again, my love.” Sherlock tilted your head up and captured your lips in his own, smiling against your mouth as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. It felt so good to be in his arms, to feel his heart beat beneath your hands, to be able to say _you’re still here with me._

When he pulled away, you spun past him and into the kitchen, pulling out the black journal you’d been crossing out things like your opera and dancing in the rain. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow as you turned the journal around and ran your fingertip over the largest written event on the page. 

_Let Sherlock fulfill his dreams of being a pirate_

  “You didn’t.” 

  “Oh, but I did.” 

[Originally posted by roadswewalk](https://tmblr.co/Z0tGsf2HJUqm9)

Less than an hour later, you were standing inside a fishing vessel, outstretched on a deep red pool chair with sunglasses perched on your nose. “Are you having fun up there love?” You called out, tipping your head upward as your husband appeared at the wheel, wearing a pirate hat on top of his raven curls. “You make a devilishly sexy pirate.” 

You gasped as Sherlock picked you up and wrapped an arm around your waist, allowing you to lean over the railing and feel the cold, salty sea spray on your face. Sherlock grinned widely as you lifted your head and met his eyes. “You want to sail the seas with me?”

  “Only if you’ll wear the hat.” 

  “I’ll always wear the hat.”

 


	9. Sherlock x Reader - Her Name Was Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Part II to These Wounds Won't Seem To Heal.

_Temporary Amnesia. Common with trauma, memories will come back in due time. All you have to do is wait._

Memories were painful, but they were pivotal to recanting a story to those who didn’t know it. It took you several weeks and much help, but eventually you had started to regain some of your memories with John Watson. The times you’d shared scotch when Sherlock locked you out of the flat. The endless cases, the laughter and smiles, the first time he’d told you that you were in love with Sherlock Holmes. 

But for the life of you, you just _couldn’t_ remember Mary Watson. It got much more difficult after Rosie was born, because at that point you were more concerned about making your mark on the baby. Your presence at her flat was killing Mary slowly but surely and you were completely unaware of it. 

The four of you were inside London Aquarium after the Six Thatchers case had been solved, facing Vivian who had her weapon pointed at Sherlock. Your breathing was abnormally even for a woman who had nearly lost her life far too many times, and had nearly watched the man she loved die far too many times as well. You’d been there for Sherlocks proclamation to protect John, Mary and Rosamund. You just didn’t expect everything to go to hell as soon as the bullet fired.

Your heart stalled as the world faded away, the only thing drawing you to your senses was a blonde female jumping in front of your husband and taking the bullet that was meant to kill him. 

  “ _Y/N, this is my fiance Mary Morstan.” John remarked proudly, stepping to the side so you could shake her hand. Marys eyes lit up as you extended your hand and tightly grasped her own._

_“Y/N Y/L/N, girlfriend to Sherlock Holmes and best friend of this moron here.” you remarked, lightly nudging John who only blushed in response. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mary.”_

_“The pleasure is all mine. I believe we’re going to make such great friends.”_

Tears ran down your face as John ran to his wifes side, desperate to apply as much pressure to her wound as possible. Despite constant rambling and bickering with an utterly speechless Sherlock, Mary Watsons eyes were still firmly locked on you. 

_It had been an eventful time since the two of you had become friends. Endless chatter over hot tea at your favorite cafe, her openly allowing you to read her memory stick, the confessions you’d made about dating each others best friend, the laughter you shared._

_“Mary, for the last time, I look AWFUL in lavender.” You whined, turning on the pedestal as the seamstress pulled at the loose fabric at your hips. Janine rose an eyebrow as you squirmed uncomfortably beneath her gaze. “Why did I agree to be your maid of honor? This was such a bad plan on my part!”_

_Mary wiggled her eyebrows and extended her hand, grasping yours as you stepped off the pedestal. Her gaze softened as she twirled you around to get a better look at your dress. “Because you love me, you git. I’m your best friend.” She replied sarcastically. “You are surely a woman made for Sherlock Holmes.”_

Everything burned. Your brain was screaming at you for being so clueless, your muscles protested as your moves became sluggish. Even though she was only a few feet away, it felt like Mary was a whole world apart. “Oh Lord, what are you-” Sherlock started, only to be halted by Mary’s weak voice speaking out from beneath him. 

  “Shut up. She’s remembering.” 

Your jaw slackened as you knelt beside your boyfriend, eyes wide and tears rolling down your cheeks as you took her hand in your own. “Mary,” You pleaded. “I’m-I’m so sorry.” 

  “You picked an awful time to remember, Y/N.” She joked, gasping as another wave of pain radiated through her body. The longer she watched you cry and John wheeze, the more difficult it became to breathe. “But I’m glad you did, because our friendship was truly something. Don’t you think so?” 

  “You were my sister.” 

She gripped your arm and pulled you as close to her as possible, her lips inches away from your ear. “And you-you were _mine. Please._ Please don’t give up on Rosie. She’ll need a mommy too. _”_ A anguished cry left your lips as Sherlock pulled you to the side, rocking you back and forth in his lap as the two of you tried to block out the final words exchanged between husband and wife. Your cries became hysterical when you finally realized- John Watson was now cradling his wifes corpse in his arms. 

Sherlock couldn’t find the strength in him to stand. His face continued to remain hidden in your neck, your fingers weakly grasping his messy raven curls as you sobbed hysterically. The tears just _wouldn’t stop coming. “Y/N..”_ He whispered softly, brushing a kiss against your tear stained cheek. “I love you.” 

You swallowed the emotion building in your voice, your breathing erratic as you rested your forehead against his own. He was your safe place. Sherlock Holmes had always been your sanctuary- a place to hide away from the cruelties of the world. Much to your misfortune, now the two of you would have to mourn together. Mourn a mother who had never made it home. 

Mourn a daughter who would never know her mother. 

Flash Forward

Six months. It had been six months since you’d gained back your memory and watched your best friend die in her husbands arms. Despite your unfading sadness over such a tragic loss, you did exactly what Mary had asked as her dying eyes locked on yoursYou looked after Rosamund. 

  “My dearest Rosie, it seems you can’t sleep without a bed time story anymore. Can you?” You chided, smiling as you took the baby from her crib. John and Sherlock had needed a night to reconcile everything from Mary’s death to the events at Sherrinford, so you had offered to look after the baby for John. Rosie yawned as she rested her head on your chest, exhaling while you ran her fingers through her blonde hair. “I’ve got one. Let me tell you a story. Not a story of a princess, but of a woman who literally defeated hell.”

_Her name was Mary Watson._

 


	10. Sherlock x Reader- He Started This!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Part II to The Idiot On Baker Street.

You do realize this is _literally_ the worst idea you’ve ever had, right?” 

  “But it’s a helicopter!”

Sherlock chuckled under his breath as he turned to the middle of the flat. You were laying on your stomach with a sheet of paper in front of you, scribbling down every prank that came to your mind. He couldn’t help but grin as you lifted the notebook and showed him your lengthy list of pranks. “You’re an idiot.” 

  “But I’m _your_ idiot.” 

You scrawled a check mark beside #3: _Extreme Makeover- Office Edition. “_ Aren’t most of the detectives at the Yard gone this late at night?” You questioned. “I want to wrap Sallys cubicle. You can do whatever you bloody please with Anderson.” 

  “I already stink bombed his flat before you got here. Luckily enough he wasn’t home.” He replied, standing over your body with his feet planted on either side of your hips. “What’s number nine? That one looks rather pleasing.” 

The two of you had been thinking of come back pranks to pull on Anderson and Donovan since they had broken into your flat two weeks before. You grinned widely and jumped to your feet, rushing to the hall closet where you had stored your spare clothes and several tubes of wrapping paper. Sherlock snickered as you picked up your backpack and threw several more stink bombs in the bottom, along with a megaphone and flash light. 

  “Are you going to join me?”

  “Do you plan on getting either caught or arrested tonight?” Sherlock questioned, slipping on his belstaff as the two of you caught a cab to the Yard. “I assume Sally and Philip are sleeping together which is why he hasn’t returned to his flat.” 

  “The two most hated people in Scotland Yard sleeping together. Now that is actually hilarious.” You muttered. You had been giddy about pranking the two of them since they’d broken into the flat. Back in high school they had named you the Class Clown because it was simply in your personality- you _loved_ to embarrass people. 

As you expected, Scotland Yard was mostly vacant which gave you a perfectly open window to do what you had planned. Sherlock kept watch as you picked the lock to Andersons outfit, plucking a Sharpie from the cup on the desk and drawing _My Darling Sally Donovan_ on the waistband and draping them over the chair.

When you walked back outside, Sherlock was rigging his worst stinkbomb underneath the desk which was mostly concealed by bright silver and red wrapping paper around the whole of the tiny cubicle. “That’s evil.” You mused, pulling on his hands as the two of you pressed against the wall to avoid the security guard strolling on the opposite side of the room. Sherlock bit his bottom lip as your hand slid up to his hair, lightly tugging on his curls as you stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Are you trying to be evil, Mr. Holmes?” 

  “I’ve got a better idea.” He whispered. “C’mon.”

***

Less than an hour later, you were crouching outside in the brush of Andersons house (shockingly enough) patiently waiting for he and Donovan to return. According to John (who had unwillingly agreed to trail them) they were beyond drunk and had opted for a cab to return to his place. 

  “This is going to end horribly.” You muttered, handing him the mask he’d purchased at the corner store. It was a rather terrifying clown mask that he insisted would produce a hilarious reaction from the drunk pair when he announced his presence. “Have fun. I’ll be videotaping.”

The two of you watched as they stumbled inside the flat very nearly snogging each others faces off. You slowly emerged from the brush as you opened your phone, handing the megaphone off to Sherlock before pressing record. 

  “ _Hellooooooooooooo boys and girls! Are you having fun snogging each other to the point where you can’t breathe?!”_ The Detective exclaimed. The top bedroom window flew open, and you bit down so hard on your lip you began to taste blood at the sound of Donovans screams. “Won’t you come out and play with me?” 

  “There-There is a CLOWN in your yard, Philip!” Hysterical laughter left your mouth as Sherlock knelt down and pulled out two cans of silly string, tossing the other can to you. “WHY IS IT DANCING?” 

Sure enough, Sherlock was dancing around the yard, grinning as he sprayed silly string all over the bush and small front porch. He then drew you into the light, slipping the other mask (which was a demon) onto your face to conceal your identity. “Have fun you two!” You called out, bent over as several explosions went off simultaneously in the house and green gas that reeked of rotten eggs and sewage began to filter out the windows. “And best of luck!” 

The Next Morning

Lestrade was just getting into his morning coffee from the shop across the street when he walked into the Yard to find several of his fellow Senior DI’s snapping photos of something near Donovans cubicle, and several other first and seconds year at Andersons. 

  “What in the bloody _world is going on?”_

Sure enough, Donovans entire cubicle had literally been wrapped in silver and red wrapping paper with the words _DONOVAN AND ANDERSON- THE BAKER STREET IDIOTS_ written in large bold print across the wrapping. One of the other detectives unlocked Andersons office, holding up a cream colored bra and a pair of womens underwear with the words _My Dear Sally Donovan_ written across the top. 

Lestrade made the connection within five minutes and ordered everything to be cleaned up by the time he returned. He hailed a taxi cab and made his way back to Baker Street where he found Sherlock on the floor, your head resting on his stomach as he was deep in his mind palace. “Ah, Detective. Don’t bother him. He’s been in there since we woke up this morning.” 

  “What did you two do to the Yard?!” He snapped angrily. “I also got a tip that Andersons house was stink bombed and sprayed with silly string? Donovan couldn’t get to her car to get to work because it was plastic wrapped!” 

Sherlock immediately sat up at this, pulling you to him with a look of hysterical laughter passing across his face. “That’s what you were doing when I went to the corner shop? You plastic wrapped Donovans car?” 

  “She freaking deserved it! Woman pulled a fake drugs bust and let her boyfriend walk in on me half naked!” 

Sherlock shrugged. “She’s got a point, Greg.’’ At that moment, he was putting on his best personality; the one that could actually appeal to others to make them like him. Greg couldn’t help but grin when he realized that Sherlock had gotten his name right. “Shall I see you out?” 

He slammed the door behind the detective inspector and jumped victoriously in the air. “We were brilliant.” He confessed, pulling you to your feet. A red hot blush crept across your face as his arm wound around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “ _You_ were brilliant.” 

  “Guilty is charged. I have learned alot of bad things from you.” You replied, lightly poking his nose which only made his smile wider. A genuine, heartfelt smile was a rare thing to see on the face of Sherlock Holmes. That only made it all the more worth while. “You want to plan a way to prank your brother?” 

When John came back to the flat, he found you and Sherlock hunched over the desk with numerous sheets of paper spread out in front of you. He merely chuckled and tickled your hips, causing you to jerk. “That was for making me follow two drunk idiots into the middle of the night. Nice going by the way. Your plan was flawless.” 

  “Want to help us prank Mycroft? We can ruin the British government in oh, thirty minutes?” 

And that was how Mycroft Holmes found the three of you attached to bungee chords on the outside of his house, jumping up and down like children on a sugar high as you spray painted the word _poppycock_ on the outside of his home. 

  “ _SHERLOCK!”_

 _“_ Don’t worry, it’s washable!!” 

 


	11. Affirmation - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlock Holmes doesn’t understand how a woman like you can love a drug addicted, thick headed man like himself. After the incident with Culverton Smith, you decide to show him.

 “ _No!” You snapped angrily, jumping in front of an raging John Watson who would have beaten Sherlock to death had you not intervened. Culverton watched with an awed expression as you lifted your hand and smacked John so hard that his head flew to the side. “You don’t get to act like you’re the only one who lost something, John Watson! You don’t get to act like all the fault is placed on the only man who has ever actually cared enough to take you under his wing. Because lets face it.” You gripped the lapels of his coat and pulled him so close to your face that he could feel your anger in waves across his face._

_“You’re just as damaged as he is.”_

In hindsight, you probably should have abstained from hitting the grieving father and husband, but you would never tolerate watching someone beat Sherlock to death because his anger clouded his judgement. John had been wary to approach you since, but found it in him to do so when you attempted to kick him out of 221B when Sherlock was discharged from the hospital. “I’m just going now.” He said quietly, brushing past your form that stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry Y/N. You know how hard this is on me-” 

You leaned outward and wrapped your fingers around the former war doctors wrist. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you John, but you know he needs us as much as we need him.” You replied, feigning a smile as he squeezed your hand and left the flat, leaving you alone with your boyfriend. 

  “How can you love someone like me?” A deep baritone rumbled, drawing you out of your trance. 

_I’ll use you as a warning sign_

_That if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind_

  “There’s so many reasons I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Words can not describe the unconditional love I feel for you. Even when we lock eyes,” You exhaled slowly as his blue eyes met yours, the left one swollen from the broken blood vessels. “My heart goes frantic.” 

  “That’s the thing!” He exclaimed, wincing as he stood to his feet and began to pace back and forth on the carpet. ‘’I adore you. I have adored you since the day we met because you are _perfect._ How can someone so perfect fall in love with someone who willingly lets their best friend beat him-” 

Marys death seemed to be a frequent topic of discussion every time John left the house for the night. “None of what happened to Mary is _your_ fault. I’ve made that clear to John plenty of times since it happened.” You said firmly, curling your hands into fists. 

  “I’m a drug addict who didn’t have the decency to properly tell you when we started dating before the Reichenbach. You.. you utterly beautiful human being, you had so much faith in me that you waited two years to see if I’d return. I used to verbally tell you that you were incorrigible and dull. And then you somehow managed to show me that I loved you. And I _do_ ,” He hid his face in his hands in a futile attempt to mask the tears lingering in his eyes. “But God only knows you deserve someone much better then the junkie detective.” 

You were inches away from the detectives mutilated body, your breathing hitching as you took Sherlocks hand and sat it against your own to compare the drastic difference in size. “Do you know what I see in these hands? I have seen these hands save lives of innocent people. I have seen them in the most intimate ways, like the first time you found it in yourself to kiss me.” A sob broke past his lips as you led his hands to your jaw, smiling as he cupped it. “And your eyes.. I could get lost in them for hours. Those are eyes that have regarded me with such awe, and eyes that have cried thousands of tears you don’t deserve to have cried. Those are eyes that don’t just see- they also observe.” 

  “ _Y/N.”_

  “And finally, your lips.” You whispered, standing on your tiptoes and slowly trailing a finger along his cupids bow lips. Sherlock let out a moan he hadn’t expected as you slanted your mouth against his own and lightly took his bottom lip in between your teeth. “Lips that have regarded me as if I were a queen and made me feel as if I could run the world.” Your fingers curled in his shirt as his hands slid up under your blouse, and much to your surprise, caused him to pull away and bury his face in your neck. “Lips that left their mark and told others that I was yours and yours alone. That’s only one of the very reasons why I love you.” 

The two of you stood there for quite some time, cherishing the feeling of one another as Sherlock tightened his grip on your body, his trembling hands unsure of where to rest. “I-” He swallowed thickly, his voice muffled by his face in the crook of your shoulder. “Please don’t go anywhere. I need you. I-I _love_ you.”

  “I love you too, but do you believe it when I say it?” 

You slowly pulled away and placed your hands on Sherlocks shoulders, applying enough pressure to ease him down into his chair. His arms opened as wide as they possibly could and you slid into them, throwing your legs over the chairs arm and resting your head against his shoulder. “There’s not one lie that comes from your lips. I’ve believed everything you said since you nearly offered yourself to Moriarty in exchange for Johns life. That’s why he’s always been taken with you.” 

It was clear from the trembling in his hands and his breathing that he was exhausted. “Are you tired my love?” you whispered, shushing his response as your fingers slid into his hair and began to slowly rake along his scalp. 

  “C-Can’t sleep. I’ll have nightmares of John literally trying to kill me.”

  “Do you have any ideas of what I can do to help you sleep?” 

Sherlock let out a sharp gasp as he picked you up bridal style and slowly ambled down the hall to your shared bedroom, resting you on your side before curling up in his, waiting to be able to rest his head on your chest. Your heart melted as he twined your legs together and threw his arm over your waist, his head resting on your chest. His curls tickled your nose, but you did your best to not laugh. “Sing. I don’t care what. Just sing to me.” 

You inhaled deeply and parted your lips, singing softly as Sherlock fell into a deep slumber. his fingers still linked with yours. 

_I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be_

_Right in front of me_

_It talked some sense to me_

He wasn’t perfect, but he was so perfectly imperfect, and he was _yours._

That made it all the more better. 

 


	12. Bitterness Kills - Sherlock x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: abuse   
> Prompt: You don’t tolerate abuse on any spectrum, but when you find yourself paralyzed inside Culverton Smiths morgue while watching John Watson beat the man he calls his best friend, you quickly learn that just like anything else, bitterness kills.

_"Why do you do that?”_

_Sherlock turned away from the door where he had just watched John storm out. His eyes were tinted red from the overcrying he’d been doing since Mary had taken the bullet for him, and his exhaustion was beginning to show as his shaking hands struggled to play his violin. “Do what?”_

_“Look at him like your whole world has fallen apart? Like because Mary took the bullet for you, you’re suddenly not a good man?”_

_He dipped his head to his chest and allowed you to take his violin from his hands. “What kind of good man lets his best mates wife take a bullet clearly meant for him? The second Mary died, John no longer looked at me like I was Sherlock Holmes. He looked at me as if I was a demon of his that has come back to life. Bitterness.’’_

_You took his palm and faced it inward toward you, turning your head to brush your lips against the center of his pale skin. “Best man I’ve ever known.”_

Have you ever felt so afraid that your body just shuts down? Your heart slows, your eyes blur, and shock settles in. Fact of the matter is, you’re properly paralyzed with fear. It’s the body reacting to traumatic situations. 

That was how you felt standing inside the morgue at the hospital Culverton Smith owned. You, Sherlock and John had gone down there to see what he called his favorite room, and now you were watching John beat Sherlock to death. 

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Hit. Punch. 

_Bitterness kills._

  ‘’This is not a game!” Hard enough to draw blood. There are tears running down your face. His foot was colliding hard enough to make Sherlock cry.

_Bitterness kills._

_“_ WAKE UP!” 

_Bitterness kills._

You jump into action when the realization hits you- Sherlock was willingly allowing John to beat him to a pulp. Everything that had happened was the result of his drug abuse; which had sprung back to life with the tragedy of Mary Watsons death. 

  “No!” You cried out, ducking underneath one of Johns punches as you stood in front of your boyfriend. You could visibly make out his soft whimpers from beneath you, his fingers desperately reaching out to wrap around your ankle. “What are you _doing?”_

  “Giving him what he bloody deserves!” 

Your mind took over logic in that moment, and you found yourself throwing a rather hard punch into Johns jaw. He froze, his eyes narrowing as his fingers flitted up to cradle his bruised jawline. “You- do not get- to take out your anger on _him.”_ You growled, motioning to Sherlock who was still clutching you at your ankles. “He has done nothing wrong and you know it!” 

  “Get out of my way Y/N!”

  “Not until you look me in the eye and admit you are at fault. Sherlock didn’t fire the gun, he didn’t jump in front of a bullet knowing very well that it would kill him. Mary did that. For you.” Your voice became raw with emotion as you were reliving that once again in front of your eyes. “For me. She did it because she knew that even when she was gone, you’d still come back to Sherlock because he was and still is your best of friends.” 

You knew very well that John would never hit a woman, until his hand came flying at you, and you just caught his wrist with his fingers inches away from your cheek. 

That was it. 

He’d crossed the line. 

  “Y/N, just let him go!” Sherlock cried out. “I deserve it. I’m the one who killed Mary!” 

  “Yes you did.”

You lunged outward and tackled him to the floor, barely managing to get in few good hits as four guards came in and pried the two of you apart. Johns blonde hair fell in his face as the two of you struggled to regain your breathing, your guards setting you on the floor beside Sherlock who gripped your coat and pulled himself up. “Y/N-I… I’ve never done that.” 

  “Well, you know what Watson?” You spat angrily, standing to your feet and pulling your boyfriend along with you. “No self respecting man who dares attempt to hit a woman and also beats his best friend is a man I want to associate with.”

_Bitterness kills._


	13. You're Still Here - Mycroft x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft Holmes is not a man given to sentimental feelings. That was the case, until he met you anyway.

With a final check on Sherlock and a heaving sigh, Mycroft stepped back into his vehicle and asked the driver to return him to his house. It had been a long several days since arriving at Sherrinford and assisting in taking down Eurus, and he wanted nothing more then to forget the entire thing had ever happened.

He was hurt. Broken. And he had no idea how to put the pieces back together. Who can fix themselves once they’re so split apart?

“Mr. Holmes, we have arrived.” The driver stated, flashing a small smile as Mycroft simply nodded and shut the back passenger door. His dark eyes settled on the house, and for the first time in days, a wave of relief washed over him like a tidal wave crashing on the shoreline.

You’d known Mycroft for years simply as two colleagues who worked together. You’d been his right hand for as long as you could remember, but being his right hand meant spending hours upon hours with the man. Needless to say, he’d taken a liking to you and you to him. That had been four months ago.

In that moment of weakness, you were exactly what he needed.

“Y/N?” Mycroft called out, hanging his coat by the front door and removing his shoes. You had taken up residence in the house with him, which meant when you weren’t working you were either at 221B or somewhere here waiting for him. “Are you here?”

A soft voice called out from the living room. “In here love.” He padded into the living room and his heart rose at the sight of you, curled up on the sofa in his dressing robe with your favorite novel spread out across your thighs. It was obvious that you’d taken the day off. “I’ve been in here most of the afternoon basking in the silence I so rarely have.” Your eyes narrowed as Mycrofts shoulders visibly hunched, which was rare. He normally prided himself on his success and ranking in the government. “What’s wrong?”

“Eurus.” He stated simply. “My sister, my baby sister. She very nearly.. she very nearly convinced Sherlock to shoot me.” Your eyes widened as he sat down a good distance away from you on the sofa and rested his head against the cushion. “I’m not a fearing man Y/N but that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever been through. But Sherlock.. Sherlock’s heart is much larger then I ever realized. He turned the gun on himself.”

Sitting your novel on the table, you leaned forward and gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist. It wasn’t much, but Mycroft was not someone who particularly enjoyed intimacy of any degree unless there was no other other soul around. ‘’Take a deep breath.” You whispered, moving your thumb in circles on the inside of his wrist. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, bowing his head to his chest and screwing his eyes tightly shut. He wanted nothing more then to forget all that had happened in Sherrinford. “I’m here, and so are you. You Holmes boys can endure hell and still survive.”

With one finger, you tilted his head towards yours and managed a small smile, which only made his eyes light up further. “Every man likes to cuddle his woman, Mike.” You said quietly, scooting back into your previous spot and patting your lap. “I promise I won’t tell Sherlock. Now c’mere.”

“You tell Sherlock and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“The man wanted to be a pirate, for Gods sake. I could make fun of that for the rest of his life and never let him live it down.” Mycroft slowly laid his head in your lap and you physically felt all the tension leave his body as he slowly began to relax in your arms. Silence further ensued as you tenderly massaged the knots out of his neck, your eyes carefully watching his as he struggled to fall asleep. “The fate of the world can rest in my hands for a couple of hours. Go to sleep.”

When Mycroft woke up, your head was lolling against the couch, and your fingers were entangled in his own as you slept peacefully.

Slowly sitting up with your fingers still linked, he managed a weak smile as he kissed your forehead. “Sleep well love.”


	14. The Softest Touch - John x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: John Watson is a man made of self loathing and anger. After the loss of his wife, it takes him several days to be openly willing to people. When he runs across you, the woman who makes everyone smile with just her personality, how can he turn down the soft touches of compassion to the heart broken soldier?

  *     * _Let me love the pain you’re going through. I think I saved myself by saving you. Let me love the lonely out of you._
    * Loneliness was one of the cruelest crosses to bear. You’d been through that tunnel more times then you could count, and you always knew whenever someone else was going through that same tunnel. The anti social tendencies, the harsh words, the avoidance of eye contact.. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint. 

The easiest person you ever read was Doctor John Watson, the esteemed colleague to the infamous Sherlock Holmes. You’d taken up frequent visits to the library just a few blocks away from Baker Street, and the cafe that sat directly beneath it. The first few times he’d seen you, you were normally consoling someone after a particularly rough day. He’d been drawn to you with your kind eyes and the smile that seemed to always scare away the demons lurking beneath. 

  “ _You should see this woman Sherlock. She’s got this incredible way of scaring off peoples fears and doubts.. She’s incredible.”_

_“Sounds like you’re hung up on her, Watson.”_

And the truth of the matter was, he was completely enamored by you. That was how you found yourself on a date with him a month after your first conversation in the pouring rain outside Baker Street. Unbeknownst to him, you were the new occupant of 221C that had just moved into London from Kettering and had spent most of your time attempting to map out the city. 

Days turned into months and months eventually turned into a year. But things took a turn when it hit six months, and you came to your flat only to find John in a personal torment, smashing most of his possessions in 221B to bits. 

It had gotten so bad that Sherlock had specifically called for you. 

  “ _John.”_ You breathed, lightly squeezing Sherlocks hand as he gestured you inside the flat and quietly shut the door behind you. John was sitting in the middle of the shag carpet, rocking back and forth with his head tucked between his knees. Your heart fell as you knelt in front of him, far away enough that if he were to lash out again that he wouldn’t hit you. “John love, please look at me.” 

  “All my fault.” He whispered in a mantra. “She shouldn’t have died- Mary’s death was all my fault.” 

You exhaled and pressed your index finger and thumb against the bridge of your nose. “None of what happened is your fault. Sherrinford wasn’t your fault, none of this is on _you_ , John Watson.” Slowly you took another step forward, focusing on the sound of rain falling on the window panes outside. John winced as you knelt in front of him and slowly reached outward to grasp his hands. “You seem to be having a panic attack, sweetheart. You need to focus on me and _breathe.”_

Touch number one, hands. To bring him back to reality, John had to tightly grip your hands and focus on the sweep of your thumbs across his knuckles. His breathing deepened as you inched closer once again, your knees now touching. 

  “I-I have a daughter.” He murmured to himself. “How do I take care of her without her mother? That’s not fair to Rosie-” 

   “Every baby girl needs her father to uplift her.” You said quietly, your fingers curling around Johns jaw as you cupped your face in his hands. The flat was quiet as his blue eyes met your y/e/c ones, now inches away from his face. He exhaled slowly as your thumb trailed up to his lips and began to outline it. “And every woman wants a man to love her.” 

  “You-” He shuddered as you leaned in and lightly kissed him, not wanting to overstep boundaries. “You don’t want someone like me.” 

  “I want you, John Watson.” You whispered against his skin, closing your eyes as his hands ventured to your waist and sat in place there. “All of you. I want to know you as _you._ The haunted, heart broken man. I want to know all your scars and all your war stories.” 

That was all it took for John to somewhat come to his senses, slowly lowering you to the floor of the flat. Your pupils dilated as he scanned your body before his eyes once again met your own, his hands on either side of your head. “Touch me. It doesn’t even have to be sexual, y/n… I just need to know I’m still _worth_ something to a woman.” 

  “You are worth everything to me.” 

Your fingers trailed up to his dress shirt where you slowly began to unbutton it, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and tossing it on the chair. Fingertips ran over taut, scarred skin as you wondered at the marvel of the man who was John Watson. He did nothing to stop you - continuing to breathe deeply as you mapped him like an artist dragging her brush across an empty canvas. 

  ‘’The loneliest people are the most damaged.” He said quietly. “For a while I couldn’t see it, but it’s there. The loneliness in your eyes.. It’s always been there. That smile, the touches, the words.. You try to hide your own cross by taking up others. It’s-” 

  “Admirable?” 

  “It’s incredibly _sad.”_ John said quietly. You exhaled sharply and lifted your hands to your cheeks, wiping the tears that were beginning to trickle down your skin. “You don’t have to be so strong anymore Y/N. We can.. We can work on carrying our crosses _together.”_

Your body deflated as you let out a guttural sob, curling into John as he guided you towards the fireplace. He tucked a pillow beneath your head and grabbed the quilt Mrs. Hudson had crocheted for Mary as a wedding present, draping it over the two of you as he pressed his chest into your back and wound his arm around your waist. A sigh left your lips as he slowly began to run his fingers through your hair in hopes to cam you down. “If I go to sleep, are you going to be here when I wake up?” You said wearily, burrowing deeper beneath the blanket. 

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. Besides, how can you carry something so heavy if there’s no one here to help you?” 

_I think I saved myself by saving you_

_Let me love the lonely out of you_




 


End file.
